


White Lies

by hellhoundsprey



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Age Difference, Bi Jensen, Bottom Jensen, Glory Hole, Infidelity, Jensen Is A Total Douche, Jensen Is Such A Dad, M/M, Midlife Crisis, Secret Relationship, Top Jared
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-24
Updated: 2017-02-24
Packaged: 2018-09-26 15:04:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9907985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellhoundsprey/pseuds/hellhoundsprey
Summary: Jensen isn't hurting anyone.





	1. White Lies

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Theboys](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theboys/gifts).



Someone else fits their cock through the hole in the wall to Jensen’s right. He turns his head in reflex, hand flying to the prize already, and he has to bite back a gasp at the sight—the weight, the entirety of it. The guy presses closer, strains for Jensen’s hand (yeah, yeah), leaks so much precome on the first few strokes that Jensen’s eyes go just about as watery as his mouth.

Fat, cut, pierced.

Would Kat be in equal awe about it?

Jensen’s left extra-wrings the first guy in apology, and it’s so easy to lean right, flutter his mouth open, try the new one with an artless swipe of tongue. The piercing is odd, metal but body-hot, adds iron to the familiar bitterness of come.

Jensen sucks the head into his mouth, tight and secure and the guy pressed to the other side of this wall chokes on his own breath.

This. _This_.

Jensen closes his eyes, ignores the threatening pain from all the kneeling (the _waiting_ ), stiff and cold and the tiles have seen way, way better days, no heating intact in here but why would it, this is a restroom in the middle of nowhere, graffiti and smashed windows and on good days the used needles are actually _inside of_ the toilets (or pissoirs or sinks or bins but when does Jensen ever spare a look for those). But none of these inconveniences matter, they’re part of the experience.

His dick has long been developing a life of its own, pulse-pushing at the zipper of one of his less favorite jeans, screaming for attention in its very own language that Jensen likes to be deaf for. The longer he postpones his own orgasm, the longer he can float. He needs this.

The bathroom is empty of sound but for distant-everywhere dripping of water, wind in the trees outside, highway a few feet away and not too busy yet. Jensen can hear himself sucking dick, the slick spanking noise of jacking the guy to his left. He hums, quietly, to himself, gets his face closer to the wall and thus the guy farther into himself until he’s jammed up against the back of Jensen’s mouth.

There is still, like, an entire hand’s width left to go.

Jesus fuck.

Panting from both left and right stalls to Jensen’s, and Jensen feels _proud_ ; he’s so good at this, he _loves_ this. They love it too: straining for more, shuddering out slick and trying to thrust into what Jensen gives them, fist or mouth doesn’t matter.

The thought had flashed across his dazed perception right as he had seen the pierced obscenity, but it’s back now, clearer, and, yeah, he _wants_ to.

Letting go of right guy’s cock, Jensen gives himself goosebumps by sliding his hand into the back pocket of his jeans, fondles for the condom and sparks hot all over. Hopes the guy won’t chicken out. That it will be as good as the times he did it before.

The sound of the condom wrapper being ripped open is loud like thunder, startles all three of them. Jensen is aware how he is starting to sweat now, breath rattling and he swallows, licks his lips. Uses both hands and carefully tugging fingers to get the latex over that goddamn monster. The fat barbells poking out of the head left and right make it even more of a challenge, positively threatening. Jensen will dream of this dick for months to come.

No one speaks. Jensen staggers to his feet somehow, grime under him and he’s shaky like he hasn’t been in a long, long while, but then again he doesn’t do this often. He’s gotta be in the mood for it. And god, if he’s ever been.

The world seems to be narrowed down to the clink and rustle of Jensen’s belt buckle, zipper, jeans. He can hear both men breathing, leans against the right wall while he gets the foil package of lube out, empties it on his fingers, screws them up his ass. He’s shuddering with the sensation, eyelids fluttering and god he’s hard, could pound right through that goddamn wall right now but that’s not what he _wants_. Plays with the thought of teasing his audience, tell them what is about to happen, what he is thinking about right now—doesn’t.

The guy didn’t move an inch, didn’t breathe much ever since Jensen fit the condom on him, waits so patiently until Jensen positions himself, smears another entire pack of lube on the guy before grabbing him for real, beginning to press him in.

A scratching noise like the guy is losing his grip on the wall, nails clicking and a whine then. Jensen is trying to keep himself in control with sweat running down the inside of his arm, his temple. One steady-fluttering draught of air once the head is in, piercings and all, and it fucking _hurts_ , it stings like hell. Jensen lets go, bends lower, seeks out the other dick with his eyes closed again, hands splayed wide on the wall.

He thinks it’s art, to be open like this. That this is special, pure even, in its own kinda way.

The guy up his ass tries to thrust too early, not in deep enough but too impatient now that it’s _happening_ , that Jensen is _giving_ him this, and Jensen would hiss if his mouth wasn’t full. He withdraws, one hand back on that dream material to sign him ‘easy, cowboy’, and the guy tries, he really does.

After, Jensen’s knees always complain like shit. His cheerleader days are long over, the doc advised to quit jogging and go for, oh I don’t know, Mr. Ackles, swimming? Easy on the joints. And, yeah, Jensen gets it, knows he’ll feel this for days to come.

If this is destructive, he doesn’t care.

The girth would feel insane even without the piercings. Unyielding like it’s made of bone instead of flesh, throbbing, pushing, forcing its way into Jensen’s guts and he feels weak here, in control and not, faceless limbo in a faceless place, skin-on-skin reduced to the bare necessities. He reaches behind himself and it’s only halfway in there—which frightens and astonishes him in equal parts.

It’s got not much to do with self-preservation when Jensen withdraws his hand (for good now, but he doesn’t announce that out loud) and lets his body gravitate towards the wall behind him, very, very slowly but continuously; a little like falling. Loss of control, again, but he’s the one deciding to do it. The guy behind the wall understands then, thrusts without finesse, too caught up in the moment, the tight-burning clutch of Jensen’s insides. It’s weirdly animalistic; ‘weirdly’ because Jensen is surprised it turns him on so much, turns his knees even more jelly, his stomach hotter.

The angle is off. Jensen squirms, chokes on his breath at one too-powerful thrust that packs the stranger right through whatever barrier Jensen’s body had to offer, and then it’s once, twice, and the guy is rooted, balls resting against Jensen’s.

Jensen is full enough to come close to an understanding of how it must feel to burst, both ends stuffed beyond being able to do anything but submit, let go, float.

Well, this is not gonna take long, is it?

The pierced guy doesn’t play any games, simply goes for it, balls drawing so tight so soon and Jensen lets him. It’s an offering, really, with his ass pressed up against the wall as close as it will get, sweaty backs of thighs stuck to the disgusting metal of it. The guy in the left stall must know what’s happening. Eager, too, and Jensen lets him fuck his throat just as freely as he lets it happen with his ass, lots of tears and snot going on but that’s fine, he’s fine. This, here, is the best he ever gets anymore.

Jensen only begins to touch his own cock once the two inside of him are seconds shy of going off. Only a few strokes are sufficient anyway. He’s glad the guy in his mouth pulls out after taking the choice of moaning from Jensen; there’s that short moment of distortion and confusion, then a groan, a splash—completion. Jensen hadn’t heard the banging the guy behind him produces with the force he is using but sure does now. He is still twitchy from his own climax but flinches in sympathy when there’s that whimper again, louder now, choked-off. The fucking stops, giving Jensen’s body a chance to come back into itself, be aware of the several places that hurt. His ass aches something fierce and taking that dick out reveals itself to be way less fun than putting it in.

Jensen sporadically cleans himself with the tissues he always brings, wipes one over his face, down his neck, sighs, huffs. His pulse is slowly coming down again.

The door had opened once. One of the guys is still in here.

Jensen waits. The stranger doesn’t make a move.

Jensen peers underneath the door of his stall to find dirty, worn-down sneakers, a hint of ripped jeans.

Stay calm.

He settles back against the wall, wipes his hands over his face again.

Okay. Stay calm. Stay calm.

How big are the chances he’d recognize your voice instead of your face, Einstein?

“Fuck off, man,” Jensen rumbles. “Show’s over.”

No movement for a second, leaving Jensen with more than enough time to play through the horror of it all—you’ve done it now, it’s over, he knows you, he’ll tell everyone, you’re gonna lose it all—just to silently leave the public bathroom.

If the toilet still had a seat, he’d sink down on it now.

~

“Thanks for cooking, Mom.”

“It’s great, Mrs. Ackles.”

“Yeah, thank you.”

Katherine beams her ‘we did a good job with her’ smile at Jensen, then across the entire table. Jensen scoops the last of the mashed potatoes from his plate and flushes it down with sparkling water (wishes it was beer). “You’re welcome. Of course,” eyes back to Jensen, cat-like and soft, “y’all can take care of the dishes then.”

Austen rolls her eyes. “Mooom, they’re guests!”

“Hungry guests. Whom I fed,” grins Katherine, and Austen’s friends have a polite, flat laugh.

Jensen wipes his napkin over his mouth, drops it on his plate, reaches for and gently squeezes Austen’s hand. “C’mon honey, you heard the queen.”

“Damn right.”

“Sweetheart, language.”

Katherine leans back in her chair, now seriously pleased—praise _and_ help with housework. “They’re in college now, Jensen! We probably don’t know half of the stuff they’re getting to hear on campus. Right, guys? C’mon, be honest.”

“It’s not that bad, Mrs. A.”

“Honest.”

Yeah, sure. Little good-for-nothings. Not worthy of Austen’s friendship, attention…anything. Jensen’s hawk eye mode makes itself known with a pinch between his eyes where his frown is starting to build. Relax, c’mon, dinner was nice, they’re gonna leave soon. “Let’s go,” says Jensen as he stands up, already grabbing used cutlery.

The way from kitchen to living room is short. Jensen can hear Kat laughing, can hear how nobody is helping at all. Looks up from the dishwasher to find one of the boys, the tall one.

“Thanks,” says Jensen without adding a name he doesn’t remember and takes over the stacked plates.

Instead of leaving to go clean up more, he shoves his hands into his jeans pockets. Lets his hip fall against the kitchen counter.

Jensen looks up from where he’s bent to stack the dishwasher.

“It’s you,” the kid says, quiet like a sigh and he looks, what, relieved? “I knew it was you, but.” Shrug, timid little smile. “I mean, it’s cool. Super cool, actually.”

Jensen’s brain can’t make a sense of any word. Until he can.

Shutdown. Not even time for emergency bells.

Jensen’s mouth is dry. “You’re the…”

“Last Thursday. Yeah.”

Jensen tries not to heave for breath. Or fall flat to his ass. “Oh,” he says, clears his throat. Turns back to the dishwasher.

Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit.

“I didn’t know you were…like that.” The kid talks quieter now. Jensen’s wife and daughter are still talking with the other friend, the lazy one, next door. “An’ I don’t judge, I mean…it was great. Awesome.”

Jensen’s eyes flicker back up to that lit, young face; he’s in college, Austen isn’t a child anymore, he’s legal, must be, you didn’t have sex with a kid.

Jensen can’t say a word.

“If you ever wanna repeat that…” The kid cuts himself off to scratch one of his giant hands over his own neck, back into his hair. He’s nervous.

“What.” (Was meant to come out as a question, but Jensen lost control over his voice but for keeping the volume down way low.) Clears his throat again, can’t feel his lips. “You’re tryna blackmail me? ’S that it?”

“Uh, no, I—”

“Well good, ’cause that wouldn’t get you anywhere.” You can do this. He doesn’t know shit. He’s putty. You’re the adult. You’ve got this. (Jensen is still crouching next to the dishwasher.) “My wife _knows_. We have an arrangement.”

The kid thinks for a second, jaw dropping and insides jumping, maybe, like Jensen’s—the few vulnerable seconds where a lie is either bought or turned down.

“Oh,” the kid says eventually, body language even looser than before, nothing but a drink of water in shaggy clothes, wiry as in Jensen can see protruding veins on his meager forearms, can see muscle moving underneath skin. He unnecessarily brushes his hair out of his eyes and Jensen thinks that he fucked this guy, this kid, college freshman just like Austen, looking like a newborn foal. “That’s, uhm. That’s cool, really.”

Pause. Jensen doesn’t look away. The kid only reluctantly keeps up the eye contact like he’s shy.

“Can we.” Blink of dopey eyes, lick of lips. “Maybe we can do it again? Sometime?” Adds, in a careful afterthought, “I can be discreet, I mean, Austen doesn’t know, does she?”

“No,” Jensen says too quickly, can already see the boy deflate before he has a chance to clarify, “she doesn’t know. It’s, I mean, Kat’s and my marriage, that’s—it’s personal.”

“Cool,” the kid says again.

Jensen’s heart is hammering, still in shock. He has his hands on the dishes he had put away right before they had started to talk. The chat in the living room is still going.

Jensen looks away from his daughter’s friend, peers into the dishwasher for no good reason but to hide his face as he murmurs, “You’re the one with the piercing?”

Shuffle of sneaker-feet. “I guess. Unless the other guy had one too.”

Jensen gives the slightest shake of head. Says, “Write your number down and put it under the doormat,” and moments later can hear the chairs in the living room scraping over the floor.

~

They leased the Toyota Prius V in another fit of ‘maybe we’ll have another baby’, a reoccurring phase they go through every three years or so and end up delaying. Kat and him are both turning thirty-seven this year. But hey, at least they have the car-question all sorted out.

Rush hour traffic. Jensen has both hands on the wheel, eyes up front, heated seats, wool-blend coat. No movement, crawling, stand-still. Someone who isn’t Jensen honks, somewhere. Jensen doesn’t even know what the Toyota’s horn sounds like.

His wedding ring is sitting a little loose lately. He must be losing weight, he thinks, but can’t pin down if he likes the thought or not. He’s been up for two hours now: sex with Kat, getting ready, having breakfast, bringing Austen to school. He’ll be late.

Still no movement. Jensen reaches for the radio control panel for any sort of difference in the scene. Something upbeat, maybe, a happy song to make this scene less depressing, to take his mind off to…somewhere. Anywhere else but here.

He tunes in to Queen’s ‘Another One Bites The Dust’. Leaves it on. Doesn’t sing along.

~

He shouldn’t be excited and he’s certainly not _happy_. More like freaking out, more like losing his shit, but god, he hasn’t felt this alive in forever.

The room is old, small; but at least remotely clean. Jared—the kid—looks wind whipped, says he rode his bike here, doesn’t have a car yet. It’s ugly outside, clammy-frizzy and Jared’s face is red from wind and weather. Jensen is sweating even though he’s down to two layers of clothing.

Jared closes in in long but timid steps, reaching out with both hands like a greedy child, and Jensen fights some primal instinct to back up, shivers when Jared gets a hold of him, that entire face a question mark and Jensen isn’t ready to give any answers here. Jensen turns his face away when Jared leans in for a first kiss—can feel the resignation of ‘okay, he only kisses his wife’, flinches at the kiss to his neck, seamlessly, lick and suck and not enough for a mark but Jensen is so hard he can’t think straight.

He needs this. He does, and it frightens him. It’s easier in the stalls, not seeing what is happening. Jensen’s bizarro-world where there’s no connection between having sex and having sex with a person who isn’t Katherine, where he’s only himself and can chase his pleasure, no responsibilities, no attachments.

Jensen can touch, now. Puts both hands around Jared’s waist—real fucking small, thin like a beanpole, shudder-jump of stomach right under Jensen’s palms, that one flimsy tee. He’s so young. It should bother Jensen more than it does.

Jared is warm. Burning up, really, inside-out.

Undressing is worse, better. Jensen only ever undressed with Kat and doctors, (baby you’re so pretty, would you please cough now, Mr. Ackles) and there’s mild insecurity now, in front of Jared who is so carefree, beanie off his head and tee pulled right after, glancing at Jensen with his lip between his teeth.

Jensen unbuttoned a grand total of three buttons of his shirt.

“Lemme help you with that.”

Jensen keeps quiet. Jensen watches, is being watched—seen. It’s odd. He isn’t sure he likes it. But he likes how Jared gleams the more control he can have. It’s freeing to devolve decisions like that. It’s easy to lie on his back, let his legs fall open, let Jared watch his fill while getting his college freshman dick out of his boxer shorts, shoving the latter down until they drop to the floor on their own.

Jared licks his own mouth, fist working his cock, brows drawn like he’s thinking hard. Maybe planning how to defile Jensen. What to do now that he got what he wanted—vulnerable, face-to-face, finally getting his piece of flushed-to-the-chest middle aged man.

Jensen isn’t doubtful anymore, because Jared is this turned on because of _him_.

“I prepped.” (Just before washing my hands in the bathroom connected to the bedroom I share with my wife, before getting into the car.) Jensen tilts his hips into more invitation. “Do it. Fuck me.”

And god, does Jared do just that. Climbs on the bed, on Jensen, knees and elbows and surprisingly much strength. Gets the condom on just so, shoves right inside and Jensen yelps despite better judgement, gets a weak-throated, “Sorry,” and more dick. Jared flips him over after awhile and Jensen sees stars, had forgotten about his dick until Jared grabs it, jacks too rough too fast and Jensen’s orgasm rips right through him.

Jared fucks him through it, all of it. Doesn’t stop when Jensen’s done, and that’s new, that’s brain damage and exhausting. (If Jensen allowed it to himself, he would be sobbing.)

Jensen rented the room for two hours.

~

April twenty-six—Austen’s birthday, the eighteenth now. Jensen feels old, watches her from behind the barbecue grill, flips steaks and veggie sausages while sipping the occasional beer. It’s a perfect day for a garden party. So much sun, actually, that Jensen had to get a cap to prevent a class A scalp sunburn. He’s wearing the only apron they own, labelled ‘If You Don’t Like My Cooking, Lower Your Standards’. Kat is more of a housewife than him, and yeah, call him toxically masculine, but the grill is _his_ territory.

Kat helps with the cake while Jensen helps spotting any undercover booze smuggling. Austen is a good girl. Jensen’s good little girl. His princess.

Part of the crowd of course is Jared. Jensen can’t bear to look at him at all, not in his own house, in front of everyone. There’s a time and place for everything, and today he’s Austen’s dad. He’ll cook this meat to perfection, come what may. He’ll be a good dad. He can be good.

Done with slicing the cake and saving two plates for Jensen and herself, Katherine saunters towards Jensen, greets him with her proud smile and a, “Look what I’ve got!” She’s wearing the tight-cut top he got for her on her last birthday, the one she said she’d look too fat in. She doesn’t though, and it’s proven now. Jensen kisses her on the mouth after she kissed him on the cheek, and he can feel her hum in appreciation. He smiles when they part, accepts being fed the birthday cake—New York cheesecake, Austen’s favorite.

She stays with him, talks for a while, something about her sister and the new baby, but Jensen needs his attention for _their_ baby, surrounded by almost-grownups and at least one of them wants to get into her pants, Jensen can _feel_ it.

The grill is hot. He wipes off sweat with the back of his hand, groans, puts his arm around Katherine. She does the same to him. It’s even hotter that way, but she’s taking some of the weight off him, always did.

Jensen kisses his wife on the top of her head. She pats his chest because she knows what he is thinking. Twenty years. More than half of their lives. And Austen is eighteen already.

Jensen holds Katherine tighter.

Katherine brings the next load of meat over to the hoard of teens and tweens, and Jensen pretends not to see that Jared is getting up, trots over to him, empty plate in his hand like a good excuse.

“Hey,” he smiles. “Hi, uhm, can we talk, maybe? Later?”

Jensen frowns, one quick flick of eyes over to the table where Kat is still busy. “Okay, so, remember when I said I had an open marriage? Yeah, but we prefer not knowing about whom we open it to. Clear?”

Jared begins to open his mouth as if to say something, decides not to, nods. He’s got both of his hands holding his cake-smeared plate.

“I wanna keep it that way,” Jensen clarifies, and Jared nods harder. Looks guilty. Like he is the one doing the wrong things here.

Katherine takes up the now empty plate, begins her way back.

Jensen promises, “We’ll text,” and slaps a half-done veggie sausage onto Jared’s plate.

~

It’s just past seven and Jensen gave up an hour ago, is sprawled on the living room couch with their little tray holding the remote and his weekend whiskey, some unimpressive show running on the huge TV. All he’s got eyes for is the phone under both of his thumbs. Not gonna lie: he might be tipsy.

It’s risky, doing this here, out in the open. But Kat has no idea. She would never search through his phone. And why should she? He’s a _great_ father and husband. He loves her. No, really, he does. That’s not why he is seeing Jared.

Jensen always deletes the chat log after they texted, and his heart will bleed for this one in particular.

That persistent-hungry throb between his legs is not new. That it spans all the way behind his tailbone though, that’s new. That’s all Jared.

_i can’t wait (kiss emoji)  
wish it was wednesday already. need you._

_You’ll live. It won’t fall off._

_you thought about what I asked the last time?_

Jensen works hard against the urge to grab his crotch. Just once. Just to get the worst itch out. He types:

_Yeah._

_…and?_

Jensen groans, puts the phone away for a second to catch his breath, have another sip from his whiskey tumbler.

‘Thought’ about it. More like jerked off to it so many times he couldn’t get it up an entire day later.

_You shouldn’t do it. Protection is important.  
Health is worth more than fun, kid._

Almost instantaneously:

 _but I need._  
_to feel you._  
 _only you jen_  
 _there’s no one else I’d do that with_  
 _promise_  
 _(praise hands emoji)_

When Jensen doesn’t reply fast enough (thumbs hovering, pulse racing):

_i swear.  
nobody else. ever._

Jensen snorts, rolls his eyes. Types, finally.

_OK. OK.  
Bring a clean test. ASAP. Then we’ll talk._

Jensen hits ‘send’ and hasn’t felt this disgusting ever since he first drove out to that bathroom.

_baby_

(Jared types so fast. Just like he’s talking, too. No filter, just pure, simple emotion, raw and undisguised, and it’s charming as much as it is saddening. Sweet-talks like Jensen is his age, like Jensen is his girlfriend.)

 _baby_  
_i’ll make it so good for you._  
 _i’ll fill you up until you choke on it_  
 _need you bursting with me_  
 _until youre all swollen_

Jensen gives himself a few more minutes of lazy channel-surfing before locking himself in the bathroom.

~

It’s the usual dorm hell, except that this is an independent apartment building. Jared chose a major in arts, a minor in physics. He’s smart and weird. Always sweet. Apparently doesn’t have a laundry bag; Jensen side-eyes the pile of unwashed everything but doesn’t complain. Doesn’t even know how in the hell he agreed to this. What if someone from Austen’s classes sees him slipping in and out of here?

Jared wears his baseball cap the wrong way around, just like Jensen likes to do it, but it suits him and his age way better. He never looked this _young_ ; topless and in basketball shorts and heaving loose papers and more unwashed laundry from his bed so he can fuck Jensen in it. Nervous-humiliated laughs, “Sorry,” and yeah, Jensen didn’t think he’d ever come over here either, especially not this spontaneously.

Jared’s roommates are out, all three of them. The kitchen is a mess. Everything smells of burnt cheese.

The aircon is out of order. The dishwasher, too.

Jared’s dick tastes clean, like soap and guy and mildly fresh cotton underwear. He’s got both hands in Jensen’s hair as if he’d fall without the support, drop dead. Whispers senseless stuff Jensen decides not to hear—Jensen just wants this, this, being lost, being picked up, forgetting anything else exists.

The sheets aren’t washed either. Jensen buries his face in them even though he wouldn’t have to stifle his voice now, here, and Jared still manages to get quite a volume out of him. Jackhammers into Jensen’s ass so precisely, so fucking perfectly that Jensen drools for it in all the places his body has to offer, chokes on it together with his forced-out breath.

He’s empty but for Jared.

It’s good. It’s good.

“I’m growing it out.” Jared smiles baby boy sweet at Jensen’s tug on his hair, leans into the touch like a cat. “You like it?”

“Hm,” is all Jensen has to offer after what now clearly feels like some sort of assault (no pun intended). Jared chuckles nonetheless, fuck-high and two filled condoms later. He shuffles and squirms until he’s got his back arched up against Jensen’s chest. Little spoon.

Jensen clutches with arms and one leg. Nose into the back of Jared’s neck. Eyes closed.

Jensen has to be home by six.

~

He might be drowning in his sweat at this point, but the noise of the air conditioner rumbling alive surprises him with so, so much relief.

Jensen stands back to watch the device in awe. He did this.

“You’re such a dad,” grins Jared, from the bed, unabashedly ogling while Jensen repairs his shithole of a home. Little good-for-nothing. Jared is up on one elbow, naked just like Jensen, legs splayed wide on what used to be clean sheets an hour ago.

Jared is careless with his beauty. He’s underestimating it, really. If he showered a little more often, would wear clean clothes in his actual size…well, he’d be handsome.

Jensen climbs onto the bed, Jared not moving, waiting for what’s happening. His cat-like smile falls away, makes way for a sincerer, more curious Jared. The one Jensen likes best.

One hand in each back of the knee, shoving up and out—even Jared’s palest parts are more tanned than Jensen’s anything. Jensen doesn’t hesitate to lean down into the ridiculous wide space Jared is able to offer between his legs.

Jensen licks a kiss right over Jared’s asshole, and Jared doesn’t tell him no. Doesn’t flinch, not really.

Jared shuffles his ass closer when Jensen doesn’t stop licking him. Sighs at some point. Tugs his legs back even farther, hands in his own backs of the knees. Offering.

Jensen has done this before—to Kat, obviously. It’s different and…not.

(Jared is more of a slut for it than her.)

“You can fuck me,” Jensen hears, “if you want.”

Jensen disconnects his mouth just to say, “That’s what I have my wife for,” but keeps watching Jared’s face now; possible because Jared’s ass is in the air at this point, legs slightly quivering with the effort but the heavy blush on Jared’s face comes from something other than exhaustion.

Jared’s eyes are heavy-lidded. Half-baby blinks. Mouth shy like his asshole (and jealous). “She could use a strap-on? If that’s what you guys are missing.”

Jensen sits back on his haunches, eyebrow furrowed, eyes down to where he massages his thumb over-in Jared’s hole. Says, “It’s not the same,” quietly (sad).

Night is approaching, fast. Jensen can tell through the shitty curtains, dark-reddish-brown and painting the room close to orange. Jared a tanned lithe body under his hands, so thin, hands and feet and dick and heart so so not matching the rest with their size, and it’s unsaid which part is the dishonest one here.

Jared speaks quietly with someone fingering his ass. Like a button to drain all the cockiness from him. Jensen can relate.

Jared’s eyes, as small as they are right now, seem to be swimming, always returning to Jensen’s.

“You’re seeing anyone else like this? Like us?”

Jensen groan-chuckles, one knuckle in now, and Jared is too soft here. “I barely have time to be _here_ , so…”

Jared breathes a small, happy laugh, closes his eyes, sighs again.

“Okay.”

This is bad. This is. The worst. Jensen is the worst.

~

In Jared’s hand is a well-sized bottle of a bottom-range whiskey. He puts it on the single clear space on top of his overflowing desk, looking proud like he just presented Jensen with a full Thanksgiving roast dinner.

Jensen has both hands on his knees and just glares.

“Hey, don’t look at me like that.” The kid unscrews the lid, produces two shot glasses from the back of his baggy jeans. Waves them with a smile. “I’m legal for this shit now. You want any?”

“No.” (When was Jared’s birthday? He hadn’t said a word. Maybe did, but Jensen forgot.)

Jensen gets to his feet, hauls Jared in with both hands and his mouth to take their minds of drinking (even though Jensen _did_ take a cab today). Squeezes his ass in these ridiculous jeans, gets the favor returned. Jared hums like something hungry scenting food.

With Jared, it always seems to escalate. Like he’s unearthing the ugliest, the neediest but most honest parts of Jensen. Jensen—despite knowing better, despite not feeling like it—allows Jared to bring that damn glass to his lips, tip it until Jensen can throw it back. Jensen coughs, a little, and Jared has his own first shot—doesn’t pull a face, nothing.

Yeah. Jensen had been right to watch out for Austen.

Jared feeds him more, more. Clothes get lost, gooey limbs and burning stomach and things are fine, they are. This feels good. Getting drunk—not alone, together. Feeling this heat together. Touching, being touched. Multiplied sensation.

God, if Kat asks, Jensen’s been at some bar with coworker A and B… She’ll buy it… She’ll have to.

Jared is edging on animalistic again; bony fingers and too much pressure, making Jensen whine low, pressing into soft spaces he has no right to handle this carelessly. Always holding on, always, like Jensen might somehow slip away. As if Jensen had anywhere better to be than here, stuck on Jared’s dick.

The spotless STD test lies on the table. Jensen had seen it when he came in.

They didn’t discuss it, but there’s no latex anyway. They just work out like that.

Jensen feels like burning up. Like Jared’s piercing chafes him open, rubs him so good on every drag. Jared always is slowest before he really starts to pound. Jensen never lasts long.

Holding him by hip and shoulder, sweat sticking them together chest to back, Jared’s nipples rock-hard like he’s freezing, teeth grazing Jensen’s ear and his cock still pumping idly with his orgasm, Jared slurs, “Spend the night.”

“I can’t.”

“Jus’ ask her. Y’don’t’ have to tell her who I am. Where you are.”

“Jay, no.”

Jensen can feel Jared’s entire body shuddering with his sob, feels him tighten more, more. “Please, man. C’mon. Just this once, just… Lemme keep you.”

Jensen waits until Jared is snoring before he gathers his clothes, dresses, slips out.

~

That Austen is here, with them, stays with them while most of her school friends left for somewhere else, a bigger college, a better college, Europe—Jensen can’t describe the joy it brings him. She’s always been a talker, from early age on. Shares everything. She’s a daddy’s girl, and Jensen is all hers.

He’d gladly give everything, every hobby and every comfort to be with her like this. Safe and cuddled on the sofa, watching movies, laughing and chatting in between.

Kat is out, with Helen and the new baby, so Jensen has got his girl all for himself, all of her attention, can spoil her in every way she deserves. Austen doesn’t exactly have a curfew, she doesn’t _need_ one—she’s a good girl. She never gets in trouble. And it’s Friday anyway, so who cares about the time?

That Austen is like this—close, friendly with her parents, eager to stay—is a gift whose best-before date Jensen constantly expects to run out. Austen didn’t get involved with boys that much yet. She has friends, sure, lots of them, but… The thought of someone touching Jensen’s baby is something he pushes away for the sake of everyone’s sanity.

He holds her hand, strokes her soft knuckles with his thumb. She’s leaning against him, dozing off if the increasing weight of her head has anything to say. They can be up just a little longer. Just finish this movie.

They both startle at the sound of the doorbell.

Austen begins to squirm awake, half-caught in a stretch Jensen calms away, “I’ve got it.”

“Who’s that? What time is it?”

“I’ll take care of it,” Jensen soothes, hands on her shoulder now. “I’ll be back in a second. No need to pause the movie.”

“Hmkay.” She flops sideways like dead weight, smiles when he pets her cheek, brushes her hair back behind her ear.

Despite the bad feeling he has, Jensen promises, “Be right back,” and Austen has her eyes closed by the time he turns to leave for the corridor.

Jensen doesn’t feel like checking the spyhole. He has had this coming. It’s bad enough to see Jared right there on his doorstep, looking crumbled and painfully sober.

Jensen opens the door just enough to talk through it. One hand on the knob, the other helping him to lean into the doorframe. Frowning, sharp mouth and tense shoulders, he hopes he looks as intimidating as he needs to be.

Jared holds up his phone with their most recent text exchange on display.

“You mean that?”

“I told you not to come here.”

Jensen pulls the door a little more closed, turns his voice a little more threatening. (Austen must be sleeping, she must be, she must be.)

“And, yeah. My marriage might be _open_ , but this is going too far.”

Jared is holding onto his phone, stares at Jensen. Tight-lipped, jaw ticking. “Let me in. Just for a sec,” and Jensen immediately strengthens himself because Jared immediately tries to make a move forward.

“Jared.” Jensen tries hard to keep his voice steady. “My daughter is downstairs.”

“I’ll scream.”

To have Jared in here—Jensen’s home, their _family_ home—is too much to handle. Would be too much even if the house was empty but for them. Leading the kid to the stairway after checking on Austen (deep asleep, thank god; turn off the movie, lights out, blanket over her), having him touch the railing… Jared doesn’t _belong_ here.

Jensen’s mind is racing, looking for excuses, possibilities. Could he have prevented this? Could he have handled it better? He was being too greedy, wasn’t he. God, Jensen, you complete idiot.

Jensen has to open the door to Kat’s and his bedroom for Jared and has severe troubles letting go of the doorknob once they’ve both stepped inside. Turns it until the lock snaps in place, stares at his fingers, his wedding ring, instead of Jared.

“Look…I like you,” Jensen says. “I enjoy this. But I told you: it’s me and Katherine. This, you…this is sex, nothing else.”

Jared shrugs, unhinged enough so that his arms fly out, slap down on his sides. “Yeah, so? What’s the big deal? Let’s fuck then.” (His voice is tight like he’s going to cry any second, and he doesn’t seem to care much about showing it.)

“Not here.”

“Why not? We did it at my place, too.”

“Not. Here.”

Jared’s teeth are grinding, hands balled to fists—he’s tense, like a cat about to jump.

Jared nods his chin towards the bed. “You made Austen here?”

Jensen doesn’t know when he let go of the doorknob. He stepped into the room, apparently, closer to Jared in order to…what, soothe him? “I’m not sure,” he admits. All barrier he has right now are his arms he holds crossed in front of his chest. Considers, “Maybe,” and feels sick looking at the bedpost.

“I wanna do you, here. Now.”

Jensen can’t exactly say no (and doesn’t know if he would want to). This is the last time anyway.

He isn’t sure how, but he will fix this. Will fix all of it. This won’t destroy them.

Jared isn’t gentle until Jensen got what he wanted. It feels different now, though. Jared is hurting. He grabs and shoves like a petulant child, someone who wants to provoke you into a fistfight. He should know better—Jensen goes soft for that. Which doesn’t mean that he enjoys it. No, this here has nothing to do with enjoyment, for neither of them.

When Jensen reminds to keep it down, that the bed is too loud, Jared throws him and then the mattress to the floor, sheets and all, and keeps fucking him like that.

Once it’s over, Jensen doesn’t feel anything.

Jared leaves.

~

Morning traffic. The Scorpions’ ‘Wind Of Change’ is on and Jensen absently whistles along with Meine.

~

Steak and mashed potatoes and peas. Cream sauce. Jensen has his beer, things are good.

It’s been about a month since he last saw Jared. Which is good, great, don’t get him wrong, it’s just… Well, he’s a realist. He’ll eventually have to do _something_ about his…situation.

Jensen has been thinking about the public bathroom again. Techniques of how to not be caught, play it even safer; bulletproof. (Well, he’s a realist; and he knows nothing can cure him.)

Jensen’s attention to his family comes back with Kat nudging their daughter. “Can you be any more mysterious, missy? C’mon, who is he?”

“He?” Jensen’s chest pulls into the absolute wrong way. “Who? Are you seeing someone?”

Austen tuts, “Dad!” and feigns embarrassment—but quickly melts into her good girl attitude, soft and unfamiliarly dreamy. Painfully grown-up.

Austen holds her cutlery in a nervous squeeze, curls her lips between her teeth. Finally spares a fleeting look to Jensen, Katherine, Jensen.

“It’s nothing, uhm. I mean…it’s not official yet.”

Katherine manages a forcedly-easy, “I feel a ‘but’ coming,” and Jensen can’t do anything.

“ _But_ …” She squirms. As if she has to fight for something, has to sweeten her way into her parents’ hearts. Looks at both of them in turns. Such a tiny, timid smile. “…I really like him. And he likes me, too.”

“He said that?” Jensen asks.

She nods.

“That’s amazing, honey,” says Katherine and, “Who is he? Do we know him?” asks Jensen.

Austen’s smile widens, reminding Jensen of the braces they put so much money and pain into, and it paid off, oh, she’s just perfect, head to toe. She lowers her eyes onto her plate then to push some peas around with her fork.

She says (and it’s almost like she’s talking to herself, tiny soft voice like a secret), “He’s been here a few times. The tall guy,” and unnecessarily specifies, “Jared.”

System shut-down. Reboot. Reboot.

(C’mon, man.) “Ah. Him. Yeah. Jared.”

Kat adds, “Good choice,” and takes Jensen’s hand into hers, Austen’s into the other. Beams at their daughter who grins right back, eyes twinkling and face flushed, just a little.

Jensen gets infected with it and there’s tension, somewhere, that he can’t quite place. He eases it by closing his eyes, laughing.


	2. Epilogue

Jensen only comes close for Lucas—handing him toys, playing with him, taking him out of Jared’s arms. He always has his eyes casted down to him.

“C’mon, buddy, let’s get you into the car seat, huh?”

Jared holds Lucas in silent cooperation while Jensen undoes the buckles strapping him to Jared’s chest. Lucas doesn’t complain when his grandpa lets him sink into his arms, just melts right in there, like magic. Like Jared would.

Jensen circles the car to get the baby boy into the baby boy seat, then climbs into the passenger seat. Buckles up, announces, “Ready,” and Jared feels like flying.

It’s only a few miles out of town. It’s only a weekend.

It’s nothing. Father-grandpa-son weekend while the girls take their minds off everything. Boy time, girl time. He doesn’t know what they expect to get going with an infant, as if he’d be into football or beer or whatever yet. They rented a cabin at a family friendly resort, close to the mountains. There’s a baby pool. A farm with a petting zoo.

Jensen is so in _love_ with Lucas. It’s ridiculous. Always has him close whenever he can; cradling, kissing, spoiling. Always respectful though whenever someone looks or Austen tells him to ‘calm down, Dad’, looks like some pouty child, and Jared loves how Jensen always lets him have the last word when things are about Lucas.

Jensen has always been vulnerable, but ever since Kat and he got pregnant again a few months back (has it already been _months_?), he’s unable to hide much of it anymore. Maybe Jared is just seeing things, though. Nobody seems to notice. (Then again, maybe nobody is looking as closely as Jared.)

It hurts when Jensen looks up at Jared for once—when he blinks, body soft with exhaustion from handling a young child all day (Jared is kinda used to it himself at this point), sitting on one of the queen beds they’ve got. The crib is right beside them.

Jensen looks like he wants to say something, maybe ask something. Jared is standing by the window and stares right back at him. Has his arms crossed like the most pathetic self-assurance.

But Jared is long past self-pity.

“He’s asleep,” murmurs Jensen, finally.

Jared swallows, wishes he’d have the decency to direct his eyes away from Austen’s dad.

Jensen shrugs, looks away again. “I’d ask what you wanna do, but.”

“There’s a TV.” (Jared feels like drowning.) “We could turn it way down? Watch the game?”

Jensen snorts. His shoulders shake with it, his defeated little chuckle.

Jared’s skin crawls all the way down to his dick.

“And I thought _I_ was being old.”

They watch the game. Jensen, the angel, brought canned beer. They have three each. Jensen seems to hold back. Jared feels guilty.

They go for a hike the next day, Lucas strapped to each of them in turns, enjoying the view. There’s not much conversation except for baby talk with Lucas. Someone mistakes them for Lucas’ _parents_ , and Jensen’s quick and honest explanation cuts deep.

(Jared is very, very good at pretending.)

“You gotta admit though, he looks just like you.”

Jared’s father-in-law looks confused, almost offended. Tips his head down just so, low enough to maybe smell the sweet top of Lucas’ head before he grumbles, “No. He’s all Austen.”

“Yeah,” Jared says, “right.”


End file.
